


The Perfect Blend

by MoviesInMyMind, orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John, M/M, Tea Euphemisms, bisexual!John, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 14:51:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5008903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoviesInMyMind/pseuds/MoviesInMyMind, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John awakens one day to nothing unexpected while going about his morning routine.  Everything seems perfectly normal: his mail is sitting on the table, the sun is shining in the early morning, and there’s a strange man with curly hair unconscious on his couch.  Maybe it’s not so normal on second thoughts.  He can only hope the man will be on his way after a cup of tea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Perfect Blend

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of something we did a while ago that kind of ended up a rambley mess. But this is much better.
> 
> \------
> 
> Anybody miss us? MIM and I are back! But don't expect to see us too often. We have lives. Sort of.

John stumbled through his flat on his way to the kitchen, his brain barely registering his surroundings so he didn’t run into anything: the corner from the hall to the living room, his chair, the man sleeping on his couch, the doorway to the kitchen… wait, man sleeping on his couch? John didn’t remember anyone staying the night. He turned back to the living room and stared.

There was, in fact, a man sleeping on his couch. A rather attractive man, yes, but a stranger nonetheless. “What the fuck?” John walked up to him slowly, briefly considering getting his gun before deciding he would be fine without it. He tapped the man on the shoulder. “Um… wake up.. sir. Sir, wake up. Hello? The fuck? Wake Up!” John shouted as he shook his shoulder.

The man on the couch mumbled something in his sleep and shifted on the couch.  He turned and wrapped an arm around John’s shoulders, pulling him closer.  He mumbled something again and seemed to settle, his long black curls falling in his face.

John froze. Now the strange man was hugging him? “Fucking hell?! Wake up and let go of me!” John started pushing the man’s shoulders away from him.

“So loud.” The man grumbled.  He shifted again, squeezing John tighter.  He seemed to be waking up however, and that was just fine by John.

John grumbled and sat on the ground. It was too early for this.

The man groaned when John moved, annoyed.  He blinked once, a blurry and barely registered bit of sight.  Then he opened his eyes all the way.  He paused, staring at John.  “Who are you?” He asked.

“Actually, I should be asking you that question. You are the one on my couch.” John glared at him.

“Your couch?  Don’t be an idiot, this is obviously my…” He took a look at the pillow underneath his head.  “...My…” He trailed.

“No this is my couch in my flat. Oh and will you let go of me now?”

The man stared at the pillow and the couch, at the blanket draped over the back.  “This is not my couch,” he mumbled.

“No it’s not. Now let go of me.”

“I’m sorry, what?  Oh.”  The man released John and sat upright.  “Sorry.  I didn’t notice.” He straightened his collar and shifted, almost nervously.

“Thank you.” John stood up and moved to his chair. “So, why are you in my flat?”

The man turned and nodded toward the window.  “Crawled in through there last night.  Sorry, thought this was the third floor.  I was in a bit of a hurry, you see.”

“It’s the second floor. Wait, why were you going to crawl in the third floor window?” John felt more confused than before.

“Obvious—I live in the next flat up.  Didn’t have my keys.  Really, John, you ought to lock your windows at night; you never know what sort of person might come sneaking through.”

“How do you know my name?” John tensed up.

“Again, quite obvious.  You’ve left your mail out on the table there.  It’s not so difficult.  Besides, I’ve heard Mrs. Hudson talk about a short blonde man downstairs named John many times before; I can only assume she meant you.”

John relaxed slightly, “Then you must be Sherlock. She does talk about you often.”

“I’m sure she has.” He stood up and held out a hand toward John.  “Sherlock Holmes, just upstairs in 321, floor C.”

John leaned forward and shook his hand. “Well, interesting to meet you.”

“I’m sure it must be, given the circumstances.  I should have liked to meet you under more polite circumstances, or not at all.  I really had no preference.  But, now that we’ve met, I suppose it was worth the effort.” He smiled.  “You seem to be an interesting sort.”

John smirked slightly, “Thanks.” He stood up and started walking towards the kitchen.

Sherlock followed him as he went then stopped by the window.  He stood there a moment wondering if it would be easier to climb the next window up or to do the polite thing and leave from the front door like an ordinary person.  He tapped the glass, debating.

“Would you like some tea?” John glanced back. “Maybe some eggs too,” he said continuing into the kitchen.

Sherlock turned his attention away from the window.  “Would I be correct in assuming you’re trying to invite me to breakfast?”

“Yes. Mrs. Hudson has been trying to set us up for awhile now and, seeing as we have met and you are attractive, I figured we could try talking more.” John smirked at Sherlock around the corner.

Sherlock stood there a moment as if not quite believing him.  “It was a thinly veiled ploy from the beginning,” he said, following John into the kitchen.  “Do you honestly think it worth indulging?”  He slipped beside him and leaned casually against the table, revealing no interest one way or the other.  They may as well have been talking about whether it was better to have sun or a few clouds in May.

“Well, I am between relationships at the moment and she did say some nice things about you.” John put the kettle on the stove.

“And you mean to fill that space between relationships with a fling, I assume?” Sherlock looked at him out of the corner of his eye.  “I’ve already spent the night; I think we can move past that.  A friendly breakfast and we go our own ways.”

While Sherlock was talking John began making the eggs. “How do you want your eggs?”

Sherlock’s tone was flat when he spoke.  “Wrapped or put in tupperware.  I can bring the tub back tomorrow or leave it with Mrs. Hudson.  Or you could have them—I don’t eat much.”

“Oh, I was hoping you would stay for breakfast. And if you are interested it doesn’t have to be just a fling.” John just scrambled the eggs, technically all the different ways to cook eggs are in scrambled eggs.

Sherlock seemed to sit up straighter, if only a bit.  He looked at John, then down at the pan.  After a minute or two of silence, only the eggs in the pan sizzling, he said, “I like my eggs scrambled.” He pushed himself off the table and sat himself at it properly, looking for all the world like he lived there.  Like he belonged there.

John glanced over as he grabbed two plates. Yes, Sherlock was definitely attractive, especially now that he had relaxed. He split the eggs and considered making toast as the kettle squealed. “How do you like your tea?” John grabbed two mugs and set the plates of eggs on his table.

Sherlock looked at him as he set everything down.  He smiled to himself and folded his hands in front of his mouth, as if praying.  “Hmm. I like my tea warm.  A good body.  A bit light up top—cream.  So long as it smells nice, I suppose, and goes down easily.”

John grinned and flushed slightly at Sherlock’s rather obvious description of him instead of the tea. But that didn’t stop him from preparing it just as Sherlock said before joining him at the table.

Sherlock sipped his tea before bothering to let it cool, watching John as he did.  “It’s a bit hot,” he said.  He set it down and picked up his utensils, starting right into the meal.  “Made to order though.  I’m not complaining.”  He had a small bite of egg and took another sip.  “What kind is this?  It has a bite to it.”

“It’s just black tea. Dark and rich in flavor, just how I like it,” John leaned in closer to Sherlock.

“I could have guessed,” Sherlock said.  Honestly, he didn’t have to.  He knew.  “Would you say you have a preference for the type?”

“I do.” John’s grin widened while he took a bite of his eggs.

“Interesting.  They say you can learn a lot about a person by how they take their tea.”  He set his fork down beside his plate, hardly having touched his food.  There were more interesting things to be concerned with.  “Tell me, what do you know about me now, or is it all just a myth?  What can you deduce?”

“Well, as far as the tea goes, you seem to have a type also. Though you do seem easily distracted considering you stopped eating your eggs.” John punctuated his point by taking another bite of his own eggs.

“Eating?  Why would I bother eating when something else is being so entertaining?  I like to focus my attention on more important things, John.” He was openly staring at him now.  He grinned.  There was no doubt now as to whether or not he felt indifferent about John’s proposal.

John smiled back and, feeling as though he had convinced Sherlock, he finished his breakfast quietly.

Sherlock sat back comfortably in his chair.  He folded his arms across his chest, tilting his head to one side.  He considered John a moment.  “Have you ever heard of a little corner bistro by the name of Angelo’s?”

“I’ve been meaning to try it for a couple weeks.” John looked back up at Sherlock.

Sherlock was smiling back at him.  “I happen to be an old friend of the owner.  How does eight o’ clock sound to you?”

“So forward.” John joked and started clearing the table, except for Sherlock’s plate with eggs still uneaten. “Sounds great though.”

“Forward says the man who opened with ‘attractive’ after finding a stranger on his couch.” Sherlock pushed his plate away and stood up from the table, taking up the cup to finish off the rest of the tea.

“Not quite as much of a stranger as I originally thought. Mrs. Hudson talks about you like you’re her son.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.  “She is the maternal sort.  Has she made you tea as well?  she likes to drop in whenever I’m busy and make me sit and talk with her.  She never lets me go until I’ve had at least a cup and something to eat.  Annoying.”  Still, John could hear the affection in his voice.

“I stop in to check on her, she doesn’t need to come check on me.” John smirked.

“I don’t need her checking on me.  I happen to be an adult.”

“An adult that still hasn’t eaten his breakfast.” John slid the plate back towards Sherlock.

Sherlock looked down at the plate with a bored expression.  “I appreciate the effort, but as I said: I don’t eat much.”  He set his empty mug down on the table beside the plate.  “It was good, but I’m afraid that short of forcing it down my throat that there’s not much to be done.”

“As a doctor, I think it is best you eat considering you are planning to climb up to the next floor window.”

“I was debating using the door,” he argued.

“Maybe, but you wanted to take the window. You were practically out it already.” John rested his hand on his hip and looked at Sherlock, daring him to deny it.

“Maybe,” Sherlock conceded.  “So what then; I’m not allowed to leave the table until I’ve finished?  Or the flat for that matter, I suppose.” He tilted his head back, raising a brow.

“You can leave, but it would be better if you ate first and I might have to postpone our date if you don’t.” John took the mug and set it in the sink with the other dishes.

“I never called it a date,” Sherlock said, but he sat down at the table regardless.  He looked down at his full plate with an expression of distaste.  “Dull.” He mumbled.  He fiddled with the fork absently.  “You know you’d be missing out on a ‘date’ as well.”

“True, but I don’t mind just postponing it for awhile.” John sat back down across from Sherlock.

Sherlocked hummed, contemplating.  “How long is awhile?”

“A longer amount of time the longer you take to eat those eggs.”

“And if I don’t eat them at all?”

“Then there is plenty of tea at the market. I’m sure I can find another one I like.”

Sherlock bit down on a loaded forkful with purpose.  “I think your cupboard is already packed well enough,” he said.  He looked off to the side, leaning on his hand, going through the motions.

John grinned as Sherlock started eating the eggs. “I do like what I have already picked out but if I need to change I’m sure I can.”

“People don’t just change teas, John.  Don’t be dull.”  He looked at his empty mug, sticking out above the sink, eyeing John as he ate another bite.  “I’ve been out of tea for quite some time now,” he said.  “I find it difficult to find just the right kind.”

John smiled gently, “I’m glad you decided you like my tea.”

“I’d like a bit more of it when I’ve finished here.  I don’t think I’ve tried it in as many ways as I might.  Maybe with a little more sugar, or maybe on its own, nothing added.”

John flushed slightly at the insinuation. “So you like your tea naked?”

Sherlock took another bite and smirked.  “I suppose I do.”

“I certainly agree with you on that point.”

“I could see that from the beginning.  As soon as you found the right tea, you decided to fling it into your mug and have at it.  You knew exactly what you wanted.” He swallowed his last bite and looked down at the empty plate with satisfaction.

John smirked and took Sherlock’s now empty plate to the sink. “I certainly go for what I want when I see it.”

Sherlock stood from the table and walked up behind him, buttoning his coat properly.  “So I gathered.  You have a tendency to stare, especially when you think I’m so incapable of seeing.  Odd that you would take the time to stare at a stranger holding you in such an uncomfortable position.”

John squinted his eyes. “You were supposed to be asleep.”

Sherlock smiled knowingly.  “I was at the start, but I found something else more interesting than sleep.  You’re a violent rouser, by the way.  Was the shaking necessary?”

John chuckled. “You were a stranger sleeping on my couch and I hadn’t had my tea yet.”

Sherlock hummed again, enjoying himself.  “Well, you could always take a mug on the couch next time you happen to find one there.”

John burst out laughing. “I’ll remember that next time.”

“Good.  If you didn’t, I’d have to remind you.” He turned and stepped out of the kitchen, purposefully headed toward the window.

John followed after him. “So I’ll see you at eight?”

Sherlock pushed open the window.  “Of course.” He stuck one leg out, ready to go.

John leaned over and pecked Sherlock on the cheek. “Bye then.” He waved and headed back down the hallway to his room.

Sherlock stood frozen in the windowsill, half in half out, his leg hanging in the air.  His eyes were wide and his face began to turn red as he felt the spot where John had kissed him.

John peeked around the corner. “Are you heading out? I’ve got a few things to do before tonight and you are a bit distracting.”

Sherlock turned awkwardly to look over his shoulder.  “I—well, yes.  I was just leaving.  Halfway out the door—window, I mean.  “This,” he gestured at the window. “Thing.”

John chuckled. “See you later, Sherlock.” He liked this flustered version of Sherlock.

Sherlock hesitated and waved.  “John,” He said.  He tried to duck out the window while looking back and bumped his head on the frame.  He made a small noise and pretended it never happened, only stopping to rub the spot once he was safe on the fire escape stair and out of sight.

John just laughed some more and closed the window behind Sherlock.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry I haven't written in a while. I've been really busy with college. I promise I will write more soon. As always everyone go look over at Work's works and thank you for reading.
> 
> \------
> 
> Ah, college. It's an exciting time. Dancing with drunk exchange students and eating ice-cream at 2 am. Dance on over to MIM's works and have a look. Thanks!


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